


Contemplating My Naval

by KylaraIngress



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M, POV First Person, leap home AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2178339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KylaraIngress/pseuds/KylaraIngress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam leaps home, and leaves Al with a big decision about life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contemplating My Naval

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published in _Quantum Scenes 4: Celebration_ zine, and written some time in the early 2000s. This was a little exercise I had started when blocked on my first first-person POV, "Mirror's Reflection". I had called it my 'rambling' story, because I had written it with no intention of making it a 'real' story nor of having a 'real' plot. But as many of you know, Al can be a persistent little bugger when he's wanting a story written, and I suddenly found myself with a plot. Dedicated to Minna Harper.

I sat there, watching him drowse after his mid-morning swim, and recalled how much he had done for me, how much more he tried to do for me, and I couldn't help but love him. Tryin' to give me Beth – now THAT was the kicker. If I wasn't plannin' on stranglin' Sam when he came out of the accelerator for jumpin' in it in the first place, I definitely was once he told me about his attempt to talk Beth inta waitin' for me.

Still and all, it hadn't worked. I don't know if Dirk the Jerk just didn't take no for an answer or if Beth just realized our marriage wouldn't be the same when I did come home from 'Nam (no worse, but no better either), but she still divorced me and married him. At the time, I may have hated her for it, but now as I look back on my life, I realize that things like that DO happen for a reason – and the reason for me was currently asleep on a lounge chair in the summer heat, water glistening on his lithe body, more irresistible than a million Vegas showgirls doing a private showing for yours truly. I slowly stood up, dusting off the uniform I was now wearing, and remembered the events that got me here, got me to this place where I was about ready to make the biggest change my life had seen since I had first met up with Sam Beckett.

*****

When we embraced in the Waiting Room (him still a little shocked that I was there and somehow not magically transported to wherever Beth and I would've been had she indeed waited; me just glad to finally touch him and feel him against me and knowing he was safely away from his daily doses of danger), I don't think anybody was shocked by the affectionate display between us. Although I think we all were a little shocked when the hug turned into a kiss, and the kiss turned into an all-out necking session.

Neither of us will admit to being the one that started turning it into more than just a hug, and neither one of us will admit either to being the one that suddenly realized we were makin' out in front of the entire project staff. We both had broken away, flushed with desire tinged with embarrassment, and the silent conversation filtered through us. Gotta admit – all those years of bein' holograms to each other and coming up with our own little system of 'talking' when Sam couldn't get away to a private enough place had us down pat in our nonverbal communication. Not a word was exchanged, but suddenly we both knew it was okay (hell, MORE than okay) that the kiss had happened – and just as suddenly, we both knew we wanted to explore what else we were capable of doing to each other.

But, unfortunately, I wasn't the only one that wanted to examine Dr. Sam Beckett as thoroughly as possible (although I doubt the docs wanted to examine him in QUITE the same way), and he was dragged away from me for physicals, head shrinking, and all sorts of other tests to make sure he was as safe and alive as he appeared to be (and believe me, he looked VERY alive, if you get my drift).

That night, after the first batch of tests were run and the first session with Beeks was accomplished, I had been waiting outside of his office to see where he wanted to go (and what he wanted to do; wink wink, nudge nudge). He had changed out of the fermi suit into khaki pants and one of his favorite polo shirts (and while part of me was glad he was out of such a god-awful outfit, part of me was just as disappointed that what he HAD changed into wasn't quite so snug on his body), and his eyes literally lit up as he saw me waitin'.

"Al," he sighed, and reached out and touched my shoulder. I didn't mind; hell, my own arm came out of its own volition and touched him as well. I think that's the part we were both the most eager about – bein' able to touch.

"So, where d'ya wanna go on your first night home, Sam?" I asked casually, not wanting to push him anywhere he didn't want to go. Hell, he had enough of doin' what others expected these past few years. By unspoken agreement, we started walking toward the elevator and escape from the project.

He smiled that goofy-assed smile of his and said, "What, there's not a 'Welcome Home' party waiting for me somewhere?"

I gave him my eyebrow-arched look of disbelief and returned, "You think the kind of party I'm gonna give you is gonna be planned in one day? Hell, give me at least until Friday," I continued. "I mean, Jeez Louise, only Mr. Work-a-holic would pick Monday as the day to return to us. The rest of us 'normal' people have work to do."

He gave a laugh, as I intended him to do, and said, "Sorry, Al. If you want, I can always jump back in and leap ahead TO Friday."

"Don't you dare!" I said, angrier than I had intended to be, pulling to a stop in front of the elevator. I jabbed at the 'up' button. "You're not gettin' anywhere NEAR that damn thing until you look at the retrieval process. And you'll be damn glad if I let you that close."

He gave me a look, then quietly said, "I'm sorry, Al. I guess I should've realized what it was like for you these past few years. I never intended . . . ."

I quickly interrupted, before he got a chance to go 'mushy' on me, "Yeah, well, I've wanted to give you a good, swift kick in the ass for jumpin' into the accelerator in the first place. You should be damn glad that I'm just too happy you're home to go through with it."

He had looked away, getting an even farther-off look in his eyes, and I barely heard the whisper, "That's why I tried giving you Beth."

I must've misheard him. "You tried WHAT?" I asked, grabbing his arm and turning him to face me.

"I did it," he said, and while he did face me now, I still couldn't see his eyes. "I went back – back to San Diego in '69. I told Beth you were alive and that she should wait for you. She . . . she cried, Al," he said, his own tears threatening to break. "She believed me, I could tell. That's why . . . ." He trailed off, but I knew what the rest of the sentence was. Hell, we hadn't gone through these five years of hell without pickin' up on each other's thoughts. That's why he had given me such an incredulous look as I had come barreling through the waiting room door. That's why after we had kissed he had looked around, as if expecting someone to grab me away from him. That's why he was so glad to see me now; afraid that maybe I had gone home to my 'wife'. I slowly dropped my hand from his arm.

"Ya know," I said, contemplative, "I'd never accuse you of bein' a nozzle, Sam," I continued, and walked into the elevator that just 'dinged' open, turned around, and finished, "but you certainly can be dense sometimes. Wasn't it YOU who suggested that whoever was controlling the leaps obviously wanted Beth and Dirk to get together?"

I held the door open for him as he tried to remember. Before the alarm started to buzz, I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the elevator. It goes to show how deep in thought he was in that he didn't even seem to notice. His face was clouded as his mind desperately tried to remember that leap, the Swiss cheese effect still in place, and he hesitantly said, "She had met his mother that afternoon, right?" At my nod, he continued, "Then saw him again at lunch the next day?"

He continued to think as the elevator rose the twelve flights of the project. He ducked his head, and continued in his scared whisper, "But He had said I was controlling the leaps."

I gave an ironic smile, saying, "Maybe you knew I wouldn't be the same person had Beth waited." Kick in the butt, ain't it? Me, actually believing in this fate shit . . . . Who'd've thunk?

"Or maybe . . ." he whispered, finally turning those hazel puppy-dog eyes toward me. He reached out and squeezed my shoulder, and finished his thought, "Maybe I just wanted you . . ." and he trailed off.

"You wanted me . . ." I queried, waiting for him to finish the sentence. But we never got a chance as the ding of the right floor sounded, and the doors of the elevator swished open.

As we walked out, I couldn't help but give a laugh as the security staff at the front desk came to attention. I had never been one for formalities, but did use my status as an Admiral when it was needed to get the job done. As Sam and I walked out, his hand moved from my shoulder to a gentle grab around my upper arm.

"Sir, do you mind telling me what's going on?" said the head of security, Paul Mitchell.

I gave him a look, trying to figure out my own side of what was happenin', and decided to go with my original reaction, "Excuse me?"

"Sir," he said, and gave a pointed look to the man that was in a half-embrace at my side, "I was not informed that Dr. Beckett was allowed to leave."

Ah, crap. He had been home for most of the day and the security team hadn't even been informed? After that fiasco with that lunatic Styles that escaped, I had overhauled security with the intent that it would NEVER happen again. At least I now knew why they were being so odd about it.

"Dr. Beckett is home, lieutenant," I said, slowly detaching my arm from Sam's so I could show that we were both unarmed. "Code name Eagle," I said, giving the phrase I had told them was basically a 'home free'.

"Sir?" he asked, looking again at Sam. Making sure he wasn't holding me hostage, no doubt.

"Code name Eagle," I repeated, stressing the 'Eagle'. I continued, "And if you have any doubts, feel free to call anyone down in Control to confirm it."

His eyes grew wide as the implications of everything I had just said filtered through his brain (he wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but Paul knew security), and he motioned to the others.

"Welcome home, Dr. Beckett," he said, and damned if the foursome didn't then give him a true military salute. I looked at the wonder-boy, and saw that he grasped it as the tribute it truly was. But Sam's face fell for some unspecified reason when they then turned the salute to me, saying, "Admiral," in acknowledgment.

I snapped back a return, despite being out of uniform, (and for those of you who are wondering, I was wearin' my red 'gansta' suit with the bolo hat) and said, "At ease, gentlemen. We'll see ya in the morning, 'kay?"

"Sir," Paul said again, as always being the spokesman for his security staff, "the rest of security will be informed of the Code Eagle clearance of Dr. Beckett right away, sir. And good evening to you both." And with that, they went back to watching the row of cameras that spanned the security booth.

I turned back to Sam, tryin' to figure out what was goin' on in that noggin of his. Hell, he'd been home all of six hours. And in that six hours, he had been poked and prodded in more orifices than I'm sure he was aware of, not to mention dealing with ME (both being there and sharing that painfully hard – yes, punny, I know – embrace in the Waiting Room) and the results of his leaping. God only knew what was going on in that cranium of his, and I, for one, would be glad if he was just able to go one night without being in mortal peril or trying to save someone from dying or trying to unite two lovers or wearing (or not wearing, as the case had been sometimes) the oddest clothes – even by my standards. So, tonight was for him.

Which brought me back to my original question. I grabbed his arm, trying not to notice the look that got from my military security force, and walked him toward the front door. "So, kid, where ya wanna go? Home first, or have ya eaten? Or do you just wanna go to some library to catch up on the past five years? What?"

His face got that look I'd seen on more than one of his leaps, that look of longing that he'd get whenever he had talked of 'home', and I knew I had said the magic word.

Quiet, still (part of my brain picked up that he had been real shy around me since that kiss), he said, "Yeah, Bena made sure I got dinner. What about you?" he asked, turning that look of longing to me, and my heart nearly broke with the impact.

"Hell, you know me, Sam," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "I was the one that made sure the cafeteria got a decent cook. Sure I ate." I guided him silently toward my car – with him as spooked out as he was startin' to look, I didn't want to trust him behind a wheel quite yet. "So, dinner's out. So, play catch-up or go home?" I knew my answer the moment his ears perked up at the word 'home', but he needed to say it. I didn't want him to ever feel so out of control (like he had on the leaps) ever again.

Beeks and I had several talks over the past five years as to what to do when Sam came home, how to help him adjust – and I felt an even stronger kinship now with this man, for I knew he would be suffering from much of the same things I did when I returned from 'Nam. Actually, he's probably gonna go through worse – he sure as hell SAW a lot worse over his time bein' a POW of Time. And the one fact Bena reiterated to me over and over was the similar concept of 'control'. Anyone, after being a prisoner, has trouble adjusting to having power over their life again. I knew I did. And Sam, who couldn't even look at his torturer in the face like I could, would have an even harder time of it. And so we would need to have him assert control over his own life as soon as possible, so he would have less trouble. Maybe, since he was so used to just 'going with the flow', he would just take the reins and not think twice. Maybe. And monkeys will fly out of my ass . . . .

"Can I . . . can I go home?" he hesitated, as if he had asked that question time and again and got the repeated negative answer. And he probably had. I mean, I knew how many times I had wanted him to come home at the end of a leap, only to have him leap into someone else, and then someone else, and so on . . . and so on . . . and so on . . . .

"Kid, if you wanted, you could go to freakin' Vegas," I said as my answer, trying to emphasize the fact that it was his choice. I opened the passenger side door to my 'Vette and ushered him in. After giving him a confident squeeze on his shoulder, I closed the door and walked around to the driver side.

As I sat down, putting the keys into the ignition, I tried not to jump as I felt his hand brush my leg. But as my body did react (considering it was the third time in five years we had touched each other. . .), he dragged his hand back guilty – as if he had done something wrong. I turned to him, tryin' to be calm and eager for him at the same time, and said, "I'm still gettin' used to bein' able to touch ya, Sam," as way of explanation.

The grin returned to his face, and he gave my leg a very definite squeeze. "Me, too," he whispered, and then turned his face toward the window as I started up the car. I moved his hand away to get to the gearshift, threw the car into reverse, nearly ran into Tina's car in my squeal out of the parking space, threw it in first, and returned his hand back to its placement as I sped away from the parking lot. I chanced a glance toward him, wondering what he was thinkin' as he saw the New Mexico landscape fly past, and decided for once I would just let him sit in solitude. So, I turned on the radio.

And I had to give a laugh at the fact that at that time, the 'Classic Rock' station I listened to (and it still makes me feel old to know that the tunes of the 70's that I liked is now considered 'classic' – hell, better than 'golden oldies', though) chose that moment to play a song from the band King Thunder, the band he had leapt into the lead singer. And of all songs, the one that had thrown him for so much of a loop: "Fate's Wide Wheel". I moved my hand to change the channel (now was NOT the time for Sam to be remembering all his leaps), when he grabbed my hand to steady it.

I turned to see him gazing at our two hands in shock, still not used to the contact, and he said, "Don't change it. I like it. Didn't . . ." and he stopped, looked up at me briefly with a furrow in his brow, and continued, "didn't I sing this once?"

"Yeah," I said, not changing the station but not moving my hand either. "On a leap. You had been there to find out who had killed your host in the original history."

He sat there, and I could see his mind working through the motions of trying to remember. "I . . . I remember being asked a question about the lyrics," he said hesitantly. "I . . . I remember being shocked as to how close they came to me and what was my life." And he sighed. Was it a sigh of relief or regret?

I finally dropped my hand – needing both for the wheel at the time – and focused back on getting Sam to his house. He seemed so unsure of everything, it was kinda frightening in a way. But all I had to do was think back to when I had returned from 'Nam and how surreal everything seemed to be, and I gave him another reassuring grin.

The song ended, and I barked a laugh at what the DJ said. At Sam's confused look, I explained, "He said that had been the concert version. Thought I heard the crowd. Well, guess what, kiddo? That was YOUR concert." After that leap, I had done some investigating on the band and found out that they had recorded that concert and sold it as their next album. And the kicker? It was their best-selling album, many proclaiming Tonic's singing to be the most inspired they had ever heard. And that was Sam.

I saw another smile grace his face as his brain let him catch up to that fact as well, and he sighed again, this time an obviously contented sigh. "I'm glad to be home, Al," he said, moving his eyes to once again gaze out at the passing landscape.

"I'm glad you're home, too, Sam," I said, and started to say more when I suddenly realized we were home. At least, to Sam's home. Even though he and I had been roommates before he had left (and nothin' BUT roommates – get your mind out of the gutter!), when it looked like he wasn't comin' home soon, I had moved most of my stuff into a spare office on the project and turned it into my home away from home.

I pulled up into the drive and shut off the car. Turning to him, I watched anxiously for any signs of 'instability', and said, "Welcome home, Sam."

He sat in his seat, looking for all the world like a little kid on a roller coaster – too scared to continue on, too scared to get off. He looked at his house like it was new (and I guess in a way it was), and I heard him softly say, "Home."

"Are you gonna be okay?" I asked, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He turned his head rapidly to me, as if he had forgotten I was there, and said, "Oh, God, Al. I really did it. I really came home. I'm really here. This isn't just a dream. It's not just a hallucination." And he started to hyperventilate.

"Hey," I said, unsnapping my seatbelt and adjusting my body so I could place my other hand on his other shoulder. "Hey, Sam?" I asked, turning him to face me, "It's okay, kid. You're really home. That's really your house." And with that, I pulled him into a comforting hug – nothing like the grateful thing we had shared earlier in the day.

And he then did something that Bena had told me he had yet to do – he cried. I felt the sobs wrack through his body as the tension of five years and God-knows how many different lives was suddenly released in a wave of relief and sadness and pain. I just held on for dear life (I had been warned, after all), and waited patiently for the tears to stop.

What seemed like hours later, he finally seemed to get control over himself, and he casually disentangled himself from my embrace. Sniffing, he wiped his eyes and said, "Sorry, Al. You must think I'm a complete idiot for crying like that."

"Hey," I chastised, reattaching my hand to his shoulder, "don't think like that. I did worse when I realized I was finally home from 'Nam, you know."

His eyes grew wide as he realized the parallels that Beeks and I had been making for years now, and he cried, "Oh, my God. Al . . . ."

"Don't worry 'bout it, Sam," I said, giving his shoulder another comforting squeeze. "You've gone through a lot in the past five years. No wonder you're reactin' the way you are. Believe me, of all the people at the project, I definitely understand what you're goin' through." I paused, then continued, "Maybe that's why you had asked me to be your observer, all those years ago, huh? Because you knew that out of all the people who could help you readjust if you did get trapped, it would be an ex-POW."

He thought about that, and instead of answering he chose to change the subject. I let him. After all, it WAS his choice. "Well, let's see what's left of my house after five years of me being gone, huh? Hopefully there aren't dust mites," he attempted to joke.

I joked back, glazing over the fact that he seemed to forget it had once been OUR house, "Na – I made sure it was kept up for ya. It'll be fine." I paused, and then asked the question I dreaded but knew had to be asked. "Do you . . . you want me to go in with ya, or do you want to go by yourself?"

He gave me another look, as if shocked I had to even ask the question, and said, "Al, for the past five years, you've been with me through anything and everything. Why would this be any different?" He paused, and looked slightly crestfallen as he thought of something, then voiced his concern, "Unless you have other plans?"

Christ – the kid thought I was TRYING to get out of seein' him? Part of me wondered why he didn't remember the kiss, the necking, the asking for more later, and part of me wondered if maybe he had changed his mind and so was giving me an avenue of escape.

I decided to give it to him straight. "Hell, kid, I could have an appointment with the Pope and I'd cancel it if it meant bein' with you. I don't have any plans, though," I added as I saw he didn't quite know if I was joking or not. I got out of the car, and neither of us seemed to think it was odd that I went around and opened his door for him. I helped him out, and felt his hand grip mine tightly as he stood and faced the outside of what he had been dreamin' about for five years now.

I walked him up the path and stopped in front of the door. I pulled out my keys, looking for the spare key to his house, and caught him out of the corner of my eye bringing his hand up to touch the screen door. The reflective screen door. Shit. Before he had a chance to freak out (and I wasn't sure which leap memory would be more of a freak-out – the one where he had leapt into himself at 15 or the one where he had leapt as himself), I pulled open the screen door and jangled my keys into the opening.

I pushed the front door open, and stood back to let him enter first. After all, this is what he had been dreaming about all those lonely nights. He gave me a look, part terror and part submissive, and took that step in. I turned on the light by the front door so he could see his living room in all its subtle glory.

Pale browns and other earth tones dominated the main room, along with the fireplace and piano that lived in the entryway. Sam took a couple more steps, then paused, seeming to drink the sight of his house in with every breath. He turned to me again, and I got the impression he expected me to disappear. I was torn. Part of me wanted to go to him, comfort him, let him know that it was okay to be freaked out. But part of me knew how important it was to let him do these things by himself. The last thing he needed was MORE dependence on me – I already wondered how much of the love he had in his eyes was based on the fact that I had been his only constant lately. I needed to give him his life, his choices, his control. But I also wanted to protect him from everything I could.

"God, it's like I never left," he said, motioning to the dusted shelf on top of the fireplace.

"Well, I told ya I kept it up for ya," I said, and pulled out a cigar. What I didn't tell him was that whenever he was between leaps and I got real low, I would often come here and meander the rooms, acting like Sam had never leapt and that he was just working late at the project. As a result, I would often do odd tasks around the house to keep my mind distracted from the reality. I started to raise the cigar to my mouth, remembered where I was, and placed it back into my internal pocket of my jacket.

He noticed, of course. There wasn't much I did lately that he HADN'T noticed, which at times had frustrated me on some of the leaps. He gave me another shy laugh, and said, "You can smoke if you want, Al. You always could when . . ." and he trailed off as the memory left him.

"Na," I excused myself, "I'm tryin' to cut back. So, you remember the living room. Where to now?"

He didn't answer me, but walked ahead to enter the kitchen. Part of me hesitated again. This would be the most likely place he would remember about us bein' roommates in the original timeline. Many nights were spent in bull sessions about our various dreams, him sittin' down and leading the conversation, me cookin' up my latest concoction and adding to the debate as I added to the food. I heard him step onto the linoleum and I couldn't hold back anymore. I walked slowly to join him in the kitchen.

As I caught up to him, I saw him looking at the peninsula that set near the 'cooking' area with a perplexed frown on his face. No wonder – that's where he usually sat. He turned the frown toward me as he heard my footsteps on the floor, but didn't seem to come to any decision. He looked out the sliding glass door and gave another sigh. He obviously remembered the pool.

He turned back to me, and said, "You won't believe how many times when I was taking a shower on a leap and wished how I could just take a swim to relax. I often wondered if my house had a swimming pool."

He glanced at the pool outside one more time, then stepped back into the living room with one more half look toward the peninsula – like he kinda remembered, but not. He then walked down the hall and I knew he was heading toward his bedroom. This was where it was going to get odd, I was sure. Would he remember me as a roommate, Donna as a wife, Tina as his live-in lover (THAT one had been an interesting timeline shift), or what? There were so many possible timelines that had happened, several happening in one leap, that I wasn't sure which one would be the prominent one, if there would be one at all. Part of me was terrified of what would happen to that genius mind of his if he got ALL the timelines back at once . . . .

He stood outside his door, looking in. It was like he knew something was going to happen once he crossed the threshold, and I patiently waited for him to make the first move. I saw his eyes flow over his bedroom furniture, then flicker toward the other door that led away from the hallway – which originally had gone to my room and now was a spare bedroom. He then turned back to me, his face clouded in confusion.

"I . . . did I live with somebody before?" he asked.

"Well," I started, still feeling like he was on a leap and not wanting to remind him of something he wouldn't remember on his own, "yeah – in some timelines."

As he turned back, I felt the visible shock as he contemplated that his home life had gone through changes. Then, the face cringed even more as he realized some of them. "Donna?" he asked, hesitant.

Part of me felt torn apart that SHE was the first one he asked about. And I didn't know how to respond to that implicit question without hurting him. "Gone," I said, trying not to show the relief I had felt when she had disappeared. She had been a major thorn in my side for the brief time she was here; blaming me for letting Sam jump in the first place, then blaming me all the more when he had jumped back to save me. Part of me had always wondered if in that timeline the reason Sam had jumped was to get away from HER. But he loved her – I could tell that when he first ran across her on that early leap. "Something you did in a later leap made her not even meet up with you." Part of me felt guilty, not only for her not being here (especially when he had asked about her first) but for my reaction to her being gone, so I dropped my head and said, "Sorry, Sam."

I felt his hand grab my shoulder, and I looked up, not sure what to expect.

"Sorry?" he asked, aghast. His eyes flickered back and forth as he reviewed his day, and something seemed to click. "You think I want her back? You've got to be kidding!"

And whatever response I was going to say got smothered as he leaned down and gave me a slight kiss. "I was just hoping I wouldn't have to go through a divorce in order to be with you," he said after he broke away. "It was you," he said, realization dawning. "Originally, I had lived with you. But . . . you said this was . . . this was MY house," he said, the confusion reasserting itself.

I gave a laugh, I couldn't help it – he looked so cute when he got flustered. "Well, Sam, like I said, it depends on what timeline you're talking about. Hell, once you get re-settled, I'll have to sit down and tell you all the different ways you and I met now . . . ."

"But . . . ."

"But yes, in the original timeline, we were roommates. I moved my stuff out once being on call for you became a habit."

"And now that I'm back?" he asked, still hesitant. That was when I decided to hell with Beeks. She was a great lady and all, but I was not gonna keep tiptoeing around the issue like this any more.

"Well, Sam, that's up to you. You've been gone for five years, and you've faced God-knows how many different issues in your trips. I'm not gonna make you do anything you're not wanting to do, and that includes havin' me as a roommate. I'm sure you've had enough time of havin' someone else in control." I stepped back, pointed to the room that used to be mine, and said, "But sure, you want me to move back, I'd be more than glad. I ain't got any other arrangements."

He looked toward his room, then toward mine, then finally at me. "I just can't seem to realize I'm actually home, Al. That this is not someone else's house. But at the same time," he said, looking back at his room, "it is somebody else's house. This isn't me anymore, is it?" And he pointed at something in the room.

I looked around, and didn't see anything right away that would be what he was referring to. I turned back, it being my turn to look confused, and he placed a hand on my arm. "The bed's a single," he said softly, and bent down and the next thing I knew we were kissing just as passionately as we had in the Waiting Room.

Well, that answered any questions as to what he wanted to do. Part of my brain contemplated his motivations while his hands started working on undressing me. But the rest of me didn't really think about much aside from how wonderful it felt to have his mouth on mine, his tongue gently probing, one hand caressing my cheek and the other frantically trying to take off my jacket and shirt. That brief glimpse of his passion I had received in the Waiting Room was nothin' to what was coursin' through his system now, and the shyness and awkwardness I had been seein' in him all day was gone as quickly as my clothing. He moved his kisses to my neck and I gave a shudder at what that mouth was capable of.

"Oh, God, Al," he sighed, moving the hand that was at my cheek down to my chest, "I can't believe it feels THIS good to hold you, to touch you."

His voice, so lost, so pained, so . . . so HERE made something in me finally snap, and I let the Calavicci charm take over.

The next thing either of us knew, I had taken charge of the growing passion in the room, attacking his neck and shoulder with my own mouth, letting my hands do the wandering over his body, stripping him of his clothes so that skin could touch skin. And I thought a simple touch on the arm had been good? It weren't nothin' compared to when our two naked bodies came into contact with each other, and we both nearly went faint with the feel. Thankfully, in my attack on him I had been gradually moving him back, so by the time he went to remove the pants that were puddled around his ankles we were ready to just fall into bed.

I gave him a slight push, climbing on top before he had a chance to move. I started trailing kisses from his toes, to his shins, to his inner thigh, a brief one on the tip of his cock, to his abdomen, one long, lingering one on each of his nipples, and then landing back where it all had started – at that lovely mouth. Each kiss was welcome with a gasp of desire, and a groan was issued as I trailed back down to his chest.

"Oh, God!" he screamed, near agony by now. "Do I even want to KNOW how you know how to do this to me?"

I gave a slight chuckle – it was exactly the kind of thing he always asked of me on leaps when I did something that amazed him. "Just know what feels good to me, Sam. It ain't that difficult to believe you'd like the same thing."

"Yeah?" he asked, a challenge inherent in his voice. And as quickly as I had attacked him, he rolled me over and climbed on top of me. "So," he said, giving me a little peck on my cheek, "you like it when someone does this," he continued, moving his lips down to my neck, nuzzling for a second. "Or this?" he asked, moving his lips even further down, this time to my nipples, and spent a good couple of glorifying moments lavishing attention to each of them. My hands started moving toward him, and he looked up with a devilish gleam in his eyes. "Oh, no you don't," he said, and grabbed both my hands in one of his and thrust them away.

"Saaaam," I cried out in agony, as his lips then moved down to my abdomen.

"Just testing your hypothesis," he said in his 'physicist' voice, all cool and clinical. "I mean, you said you were doing what you liked, but you never did this," and I lost all knowledge of what my argument was going to be as his mouth started a suck on my cock that would make a Hoover look weak. Since he wouldn't allow my hands near him, they made a death grip on the sheets as his mouth worked wonders.

"I . . . I . . . ." I gasped, barely able to formulate words, "I was savin' it for last . . . OH, JESUS SAKES CHRIST!" I shouted as he pulled me near the brink, then had the audacity to stop. "Sam, for FUCK'S sake, don't stop!"

"For fuck's sake?" he asked, raising his eyes to meet mine. "Just what I was thinking, Al. How did you guess?" And he crawled away from my body and danced into the hallway. I let my breathing go back to normal, wondering what the hell he was doing. 'For fuck's sake,' I repeated to myself. No. Uh-huh. He can't mean . . . .

Yep, he did, I realized as he waltzed back in holding a container of Vaseline, an evil glint in his eye. "Do I want to know why you've kept Vaseline in my medicine cabinet for five YEARS?" he asked, an incredulous look on his face.

"Uh, what're you gonna do with that, Sam?" I asked, not sure if I was quite ready for this part of this very surrealistic homecoming.

He looked confused, then said, "What do you think, Al? I want to feel you inside me, have wanted to for years now."

While part of me wanted to sigh in relief (at least he wasn't wantin' to get inside ME), part of me couldn't help but pick up that bit of info he just dropped me. "You WHAT?"

He looked at me shyly, and said, "Yeah. I didn't realize it at the time, but the moment I got home I realized I've been wanting you, wanting this, for a long time." He opened the top of the jar and laid both jar and lid on the nightstand. He then gently crawled on the bed next to me, gave me a look of longing, and said in that sweet prude voice of his, "Well, are you gonna fuck me or what?"

Oh, God! I nearly came right then and there, and a part of my brain popped in with the comment, 'Well, you did say you would do ANYTHING to have him back!' But the rest of me just looked at that naked, needful body and I rolled on top of him.

"Front or back?" I asked, as if I was conversing about the weather. Still giving him the choice.

"I want to see you," he said softly, suddenly back to his shyness that had encompassed every conversation I'd had with him today. "All those times on the leaps, I imagined it was you. You said one time to pretend it was someone else, if that got around my concerns about love. At first, I tried thinking of Donna . . . but the memory of you overpowered everything else, and that's what I thought of each and every time I made love. At first, I thought it was because you were my constant – that you were the only thing I COULD remember of my life back here. But as the years progressed, I realized that it was because of you, plain and simple." He leaned up and gave me a longing kiss. "I know you're not big on the mushy stuff, Al, and I hope I don't overstep my bounds here, but I love you. I'm IN love with you. Have been for a long time. I . . . I used to have dreams of you on the leaps. That's . . . that's why I tried giving you Beth. I loved you so much, and I didn't think you would ever do something like this with me, so I did what I did to make you happy. You had told me how much she meant to you, and so when He told me I could make one leap for myself, I choose to make your life better."

"Aw, Sammy," I said, looking at the man who graced the bed in front of me. His eyes were downcast, as if afraid of how I would react to this outpouring of emotion, his hands clasped in front of him in a weird parody of prayer, his naked body gleaming with sweat in the pale moonlight that filtered in through the window. I slowly picked up one hand in mine and with my other I raised his chin so he was forced to look at me. "Like you said, I'm not good with this emotional garbage. Never have been. Even Beth had talked about how hard it was to get me to admit to what I was feeling. Guess it's the military in me. You can take the man out of the Navy . . ." I said, trailing off, not completing the rest of the phrase.

"But hear this and believe, Sam," I said carefully, catching those dark pools of emerald he called eyes with mine, "the only thing that woulda made my life better was to have you home, safe and alive." I gave a snort, my mind not letting even this scene become too emotional, and said, "Maybe that's why Beth still divorced me. Because whoever is controlling our lives realized your intentions and made things work out for the best for all concerned." And before he had a chance to retort, I leaned down and gave him a sweet, simple, intensely erotic, mind-numbing kiss. One of those that makes you think of Bogey and Bacall, Hepburn and Tracy, Cary Grant and Claudette Colbert. As I broke away, my left hand moved from his chin to the jar of cream on the nightstand, and I started coating myself for entrance.

"Are you sure about this, Sam?" I asked, still giving him the choice. "I've done this before," and at his look of shock, I added, "during the 60's when sex was just another form of communication," as way of explanation, and continued, "and I know how much this will hurt. I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. Even for me."

And if I didn't think he loved me before, I would've had proof now as I saw him gaze up at me with complete trust and caring. And again, that devil's advocate voice stuck inside my head popped in with the question of how much of this trust was based on the fact that I was the only thing in his life he could depend on in the past five years. God, I hoped he knew what he was doing. He gave a slight nod of permission, and when he felt that didn't quite indicate his eagerness enough, he reached down and gently guided me into him.

I debated how to do this – I've popped more than a few virgins in my time and there was always that decision of whether to go in slowly so they could get used to it gradually or to go in fast and get the pain over as quickly as possible. I pulled away, and decided Sam deserved as much compassion as I could give him, and started with my fingers instead. His face, first clouding over in confusion, leaned back against the bed in a combination of pain and pleasure as my index finger found his opening and gradually explored the netherworld found within. I felt his breathing start to get ragged and he mumbled incoherently as I added in my middle finger, then a third just to be careful.

His hands twisted in convulsive agony in the bed sheets as my fingers moved in and out, and I felt my eyes become transfixed on his cock as he reacted to that thin line between pain and pleasure where you're not sure which it is, but you know you don't want it to stop. And that's when I decided to prove to myself that I meant I would do ANYTHING to have him back. As I increased my speed, I leaned down and started to lick the very tip of his cock. I heard him give another gargled gasp, and I was suddenly glad Sam Beckett did NOT own a waterbed, for if he did he would've popped it right then and there, his fingernails pinioned into the mattress. I started to play with the top with my tongue, making languid circles around the head and licking it like it was . . . well, actually, I'm kinda tired of all these clichés and euphemisms and metaphors – I started licking it like it was Sam Beckett's cock!

I removed my hand and laced myself with the Vaseline. And I slowly drew my mouth back, gently scraping him with my teeth, as I finally, achingly set myself ready for entrance. I gave him another look, triple-checking that this was indeed what he wanted. And I gave a slight gasp as I gazed upon his body; his head leaned back, his eyes closed tight, his face covered in a slight sweat, his teeth clenched, his nipples hard nubs of erotic beauty against that sea of light hair on his chest. With that visual, the Little Admiral perked his head up, wanting in on the action.

And so I raised his legs so he was more easily accessible, and decided then and there that if there was any more pain for him to go through, it would be much easier if it got over quickly. And so with one quick thrust, I was in. Oh, Jesus! And I thought FEMALE virgins were fun to pop – it ain't NOTHIN' compared to the pleasures of being embedded in his ass. I pulled back a little and thrust again, making him squirm against me in the most delightful way. I clasped tight to his thighs, and had the gumption to say, "Hold on for the ride of your life, babe!" And before you could say 'Bingo, Bango, Bongo', I was goin' at it like the end of the world was just around the corner.

Faster and faster, hot, smooth, NOW! Whoever said that sex was the best exercise known to man sure wasn't kiddin', as I pumped against the tight opening that lay before me. It was both joy and ecstasy as I rode him hard and long, using my hands to push him against me in a furious friction, and part of my brain acknowledged that he was now calling out the powers that be in his cries of pleasure and excitement. And as I gazed down at him, my hips doin' a new twist on the horizontal tango, my heart reached out to him and I knew then and there that I loved him. Thankfully, I came in a fit of wild abandon, for that thought sobered me quicker than a whole bevy of priests.

Now, you gotta hear me out: I never had a problem with homosexuality. Whatever you may have heard about my motives behind my actions during Sam's leap into the cadet that may or may not have been gay, it was more based on years of ingrained military training than on any real issues. And my heart was still true to the Navy. Like I had started to say earlier, you may be able to take the man out of the Navy, but you can never take the Navy out of the man. And I felt I was cheating on my real first love with what they would consider unnatural affection. So when my heart did that little flip flop I used to only associate with memories of Beth, I was more than glad that Sam was barely coherent at that point. For I don't think he'd've liked the look that probably graced my face.

I reached out with my hand and quickly finished him off, watching the cum spill out of him onto his chest. And the part of myself that is determined to doom all good relationships took control over my mouth and before I could stop it, I had said, "Welcome home, Sam. I did say I'd do whatever it took to get you home," and slowly slipped out of him.

His eyes blinked open and his face did a slo-mo movement to look at me as my words filtered through his brain. "What?" he said, distant. "What did you mean by that?" I could see the wheels turning, as he repeated, "You'd do whatever it took? Are you saying you didn't want this?" he asked, his face filling with confusion.

I gradually crawled off him and the bed, and started to get dressed. My heart cringed at the look of pain my obvious lack of concern received. And my mouth still seemed to have a mind of its own. "This was your night, kid. Whatever you wanted, you got. This isn't about me or what I want."

"You bastard!" I looked down, and saw him start to sit up, a look of disgust on his face. "Are you saying this was a pity fuck? 'Sam's been gone for so long that I'll do anything'? Is that what this was? What about when I first got home? What about that first kiss? Was THAT from pity as well?"

"Sam, it wasn't a pity fuck," I started to say, started to explain.

"Bullshit!" he interrupted me. "If you're saying this was for me, that this isn't about you or what you want, then you did it out of pity."

"Look, I enjoyed it. Hell, you'd have to be blind to not notice how much I enjoyed this, Sam," I said, motioning to my bottom half as I pulled on my pants. "I'm just sayin' that you've spent the last five years doing what you thought needed to be done. Tonight, you got to do what you wanted to do. I just don't want you puttin' too much into this."

"But Al, I told you I love you!"

And that's when the dam broke and that part of my brain that seethed with jealousy finally took over. "Like you loved Abigail? Like you loved Tamlyn? How 'bout Tess, or Missy, or Nicole, or hell, even Donna? Do you know how much my heart broke every time you told me you were in love with some woman, wanting to stay, wanting to leave the world of Quantum Leap behind, wanting to leave ME behind? And you have the gall to tell me you thought of me all those times?" I took a breath, the anger in my voice becoming a shield against the feelings in my heart that had scared me so much. "Don't think this changes anything between us, doctor, 'cause it doesn't. I'm willing to be your roommate, but that's it. I'm gonna have a hard enough time excusing our activity in the Waiting Room to the Navy," and as soon as I said that, I realized I had said too much. Now Sam knew part of why I was freaking out. And as his face clouded over, I knew he was catchin' up to my internal thoughts.

"Look, Al," he started, grabbing a couple of tissues off the night stand and starting to wipe himself off, "I know this is a new experience for you, and I know you're probably really freaking out about this. I know you have to contend with the Navy and all that represents to you." He finished wiping himself off, threw the tissues in the nearby trashcan, stood up, and walked to my side. He placed his hands on my shoulders and gave me that look I recognized to mean he was about to do something that was both tremendously heroic and stupid at the same time. "I would rather be your friend than nothing, Al. And whatever you may feel your obligations are, I don't want to take anything you're not willing to give." He leant down and gave me a sweet, innocent kiss that lasted half a second, then said, "I only want to make you happy, Al. I guess I, too, want to do anything I can. So, we'll do this at your pace, not mine."

Damn him. Using my own words against me. I pulled on my shirt, breaking away from the slight embrace we had maintained, and gave him one of my withering looks. "Sam, I just wanted to make your homecoming special."

"It was, Al," he sighed, and started to escort me to the living room – still naked as a jaybird. "It's been a long day, why don't we see what happens, okay?"

And he wished me goodnight with a simple, sweet, endearing kiss. And I walked away like the heel I was.

*****

The week gradually progressed. The days at PQL were tense between us; the few times we actually got to see each other, we were both painfully aware of each other's presence. And I kept my distance, not knowing how to handle this new development. I couldn't help but notice the extra attention our relationship got, both from the project members (especially Bena who kept on giving me looks of disbelief) and from the military members (who suddenly upped their salutes to me and calling me by my title on a regular basis).

And Sam. The first couple of days back were still spent in medical and mental tests, with a couple of hours spent each day going over all of his leaps. He remembered, gradually, and even told me of a half-hearted attempt to call his brother Tom, not knowing how to speak to a brother he hardly knew. And that doesn't even begin the odd friendship he tried creating with Sammy Jo, not quite ready to tell her who he really was to her.

And I could tell that despite his words of that Monday night, our relationship was irretrievably changed – every glance, every touch, every word now had a subtext of meaning behind it. And part of me wasn't sure if I didn't want the relationship to change. But each time I felt like taking the plunge into that one four-letter word I never uttered, 'love', I would be reminded of the Navy and my promise to them that I made so many years ago. Yes, I had pledged my life, my self, my – dare I say it – my soul to the man who I shared a house with five years ago, but I had been devoted to the Navy for over half of my life. And in my heart, I couldn't reconcile the two.

But I distracted myself by planning the end-all 'Welcome Home' party for Sam for Friday night. And, of course, the usual run-around of reports and paperwork nearly tripled in the event of Sam's return to the project. So, it left me with little time to contemplate what I was going to do. But the nights were hell; I had moved back into the house Tuesday, but into the spare room. And despite Sam's protestations that he was not trying to force the issue, it seemed like there were an inordinate amount of times that he would parade around in skivvies or less, and would happen to announce his shower times like they were television programs. And he seemed hell bend on giving me hugs whenever he could, letting me breathe in the scent of him every time he did.

Friday day came and went, and the personnel at the project made a gradual move to our house, which is where I had planned the party. And what a party. More champagne than the entire country of France, a spread that would make a wedding reception look cheap, and the house was lit up like the Fourth of July. Jeez – what is it with these metaphors? It was Sam Beckett's HOMECOMING party – it was the culmination of five years' worth of plans.

And I was grand host and emcee, bringing Sam to the cake that was a representation of the handlink, special ordered just for him. I calmed the crowd down, indicated it was time for the presentation. And brought Sam to the forefront.

"Ladies and gents from the project," I started, trying to put in a little formality.

"Yeah, who're you callin' a lady?" I heard a catcall from the back of the room, one of the pencil pushers.

"C'mon, people," I tried again.

"I thought that was AFTER the party," said a different voice, Tina this time. She's become a lot more cocky since marryin' Gooshie. Guess I shoulda waited to open the champagne until after my toast, huh?

"Look, I'm tryin' to be serious here," I said, knowing the grin on my face would disagree with my words.

"Yeah? I guess there's a first time for everything," said a voice I knew only too well was Bena's. Jeez – they weren't plannin' on makin' this easy on me, were they?

"Hey, if you guys don't give me a break, I'll have to start singing!" The room became so silent you could've heard Gooshie's bad breath.

"Y'all know how I don't like this mushy stuff, so I want to get it over as soon as I can." I motioned to Sam with my non-alcoholic grape juice and continued, "Approximately five years ago, we lost a man to the whim of God or Time or Fate or Whatever. This man was . . . no, is our Project Director, a Nobel Prize winner, one of the smartest men on Earth, and . . . and our friend." A quick drink, a shy glance toward Sam, and a hesitant admittance, "My . . . my best friend." Another gulp, and I steadied my nerves to go on, "This past Monday, he finally came home. He got back to us safe and sane and solid. We went through all kinds of hell to get him back, while he was goin' through all kinds of hell just to survive." Another glance at the crowd as I fought back the lump that was forming in my throat, and I finally said, "To Dr. Sam Beckett," raising my glass in a toast, "welcome home."

As the crowd gave an appreciative round of applause, I brought Sam to the forefront and stepped back, trying to blend into the background – which was kinda hard, considering I was wearing one of my wilder outfits, a blaze of greens and teals in a suit and shoestring tie.

Sam looked appropriately abashed, his head ducked down in his Midwestern modesty, and gave the requested blush. "Please," he said, raising his hands in acquiescence, trying to calm the crowd down. But since this was his usual behavior, unusual only in the fact that he was actually here to do it, caused the staff to break out even more.

"I appreciate all," he started, with a quick glance to catch my eye, "all that you have done to bring me back. I couldn't have . . . have done it without you. I . . . I love you . . . all," and he tore his eyes away from me and finished his champagne. "All I can say is thank you . . . thank you all . . . for everything." With that, he proceeded to cut into the cake.

I walked away, pretending I was going for more juice but knowing it was harder stuff I was seeking out in the kitchen. It was the only way I would be able to get through this party.

Alone, able to check my emotions, I stepped out onto the patio and gazed at the pool lit up against the night.

"You mind telling me what the hell that was all about?" I heard from behind me. I didn't bother to turn around.

"Don't know what you mean, Bena," I said, taking a slight sip of the whiskey I now had in my hand.

"C'mon, Al, you know I can read right through you," she said, taking a step forward to where I could see her out of the corner of my eye. I just leaned on the wooden railing that ran around the deck, sloshing my drink around to hear the clink of ice against the glass.

"Then why ya askin'?" I said, moving my head to look out at the eastern horizon.

I felt her hand lay gently on my arm as she stepped up once again to match my stance. "What's going on with you and Sam, Al?" she asked, giving my hand a slight squeeze.

I could never fool her. But I still tried. "What? What d'ya mean, what's goin' on? He's home. Why should there be anything wrong?"

"Al, I'm really not in the mood to drag all this out of you like this. But I'm tired of all this shit between you two. I saw that welcome home greeting, Al. Hell, half the staff out there saw it. And I know you. Remember who you're talking to, Al. I know what you've been going through while Sam's been on his leaps. I'm the one that's been around when he leapt into Samantha, when he leapt into Prescott Academy, when he leapt into the priest. I have a pretty good idea of what's going on in that noggin of yours, but I also know you need to talk about it. So I ask again, what the hell is going on with you and Sam?"

I turned to her, giving my best withering look, and saw the determined look in her eyes. I glanced back at the party behind me. Sam was still cutting the cake for everyone, Mr. Nice Guy down to his own homecoming party, and the guests were starting to split into groups – some dancing in the living room, others milling about the kitchen, and even a few heading down the hallway. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what would be goin' on back in the bedrooms. Probably see more action tonight than it has since Sam bought the damn house.

I then pulled my glance back to Bena, sighed as I saw she was not going to let this drop, and finally said, "I . . . I love him, Beeks. More than anything in the world. More than . . . more than Beth, I think. Monday . . . Monday night, I realized how much." My eyes couldn't focus on her, so I glanced again at the back yard, catching the shadow play of the moon on the lawn. "I was willin' to do anything to get him back, Bena. Anything. And . . . and I told him that. And now there's a price that's being asked of me that I'm not sure I can pay, and I feel like a heel for even promising anything to the kid. I . . ." a quick glance at her face to show her how much pain this confession was giving me, and I continued, "I can't be in love with him, Bena. If he was a woman, it'd be different. I wouldn't have any problem with . . . . Well, okay, I'd still have a problem with the 'l' word," I said with a laugh, "but I wouldn't have to worry about the repercussions for me, for him, and could just focus on the fact that I tend to be my own worst enemy when it comes to my emotions."

"So, you think Sam's asking you to give up the Navy?"

"Hell, no, Bena," I said, turning to her with a look of chagrin on my face. "You know Sam just as well as I do. He wouldn't ask anything of me. Hell, he even tried giving me Beth back since he felt I'd never return his affections. The hero to the end, I guess," I said, turning back to look at the nothingness in front of me. "No, if anything, the Navy's asking me to give up Sam, and I don't know if I can do that. But I owe them . . . and I owe Sam."

"And you're not sure who you should be more loyal to?"

Damn, she was perceptive. "Uh, I guess so."

"What does your heart tell you?"

I turned back, looking at her, then looked through the window, and caught Sam in mid-laugh with Tina, his face showing a joy and emotion I hadn't seen in a long time. God, he has a beautiful smile. He seemed to feel my eyes upon him, for his eyebrows furrowed and he turned his head to face the window. Our eyes met for a brief second and his smile got wider, if possible, and he gave a slight nod, raising his glass in salute. I felt the lump in my throat return at that simple gesture of affection, and gave a return salute, finishing off my glass of whiskey.

"Even Beth knew she came second to the Navy, Bena. Part of me wonders if that's why she didn't wait around for me. And I have no right to do that to Sam. He deserves to come first with someone. He deserves someone better than me."

"And what about you, Al?" she asked, taking my hand in hers and turning me back to face her. "What about what you deserve?"

"Me?" I asked, giving her a lopsided grin that probably would've looked better on Sam. "You should know me well enough by now, Bena, to know I don't worry about what I deserve. Hell, I should be glad I don't get what I deserve sometimes, with my lifestyle. Otherwise, I have a feeling I would find it way too easy to sing soprano otherwise."

"Stop the self-depreciating humor, Al. You've done a hell of a job with the cards you were dealt with in life. You've never stopped surviving and continuing to make even the most heinous of events into learning experiences. Most people would crack under half of what you've lived through."

"And what about Sam and what he's lived through?" I said, turning her own question back on her. "The last thing he needs right now is more dependence on me, and you should be well aware as to why!" And I grabbed my arm out of hers and stalked down the stairway that led down to the back yard.

"I give up," I heard from behind me. "But he deserves to know, Al. If anything else, he deserves to know that you love him," and I felt rather than heard her exit back into the party. I took a seat on the bottom stair, sat my glass by my side, and pulled out a cigar. While there was never any official rule about my smoking in the house, I had automatically followed the same unspoken rule there had been before Sam leapt of keeping it out of the house.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Sam!" I cried out, shocked I hadn't heard him coming down the stairs. Now I knew what it was like for him all those times I'd pop in by him unexpectedly. "What're you doin' here? It's your homecoming party, you should be smoozin' with the guests."

"Needed a break," he said as he sat down beside me. "How many people did you INVITE to this thing?"

"Anyone who had a stake in your safety."

"So in other words, all 200-some people of the project," he said, giving a laugh. "What about you? This is just as much your party as mine. What are you doing hiding out here?"

"Hiding?" I asked, giving him a look of disbelief. "I'm not hiding. Just came out for some fresh air."

"You call THAT," he said, making a point toward my stogie, "getting fresh air?"

"I guess you wouldn't," I couldn't help but sneer, getting into the habit of our regular verbal debate about my cigars. "But believe me, it is."

"Al, what's wrong?"

"Huh?" I asked, thrown by the change of topics.

"We've barely spoken two words since . . . since Monday night," he said, looking away as the blush crept up his face. "Are . . . are you mad at me? For what we did?" he finally asked, turning pain-filled eyes toward me.

Christ. As if talkin' to Bena wasn't bad enough. I turned my head slightly, suddenly having a very good idea what she had done the minute she got back to the party, and grimaced as I saw her at one of the windows, looking at the two of us with an intense glare. "No, I'm not mad," I said, turning back to him, then moving my head back to gazing at the sloping yard in front of me. "Not at you, anyway."

"So who are you mad at?"

"Myself, I guess," I said, not even pausing. Hell, I hated to lie to the kid. Never was any good at it the few times I had to on leaps. I grabbed my glass and had it halfway to my lips before I remembered it was empty, and slowly sat it back down. I grabbed a piece of ice and thoughtfully chewed it, letting my teeth crunch to fill the silence. "I haven't exactly been reactin' well to this whole thing between you and me."

"Well, it's not like it's something you were prepared for," he said, and even though I wasn't lookin' at him, I could tell he had that ironic grin on his face. "You're . . . you're not sorry we did it, are you?"

I gave my own version of the ironic grin, and turned to face him. "You've got to be kidding!"

"Then . . . then what's wrong, Al?"

"I gotta tell you somethin', Sam. Somethin' important." Beeks was right. He needed to know.

"Let me guess: you're really a woman, and you had a sex change in order to go into the space program," he deadpanned, makin' me curse the irreverent humor he had picked up from me.

"Sam, I'm tryin' to be serious here."

"Great," he tried to joke. "The last time you were serious was when you told me you were getting married to Maxine," he said.

"Well," I said, remembering the interesting conversation THAT had brought up, for it had been the only time we had really had an argument – for Maxine had wanted me off the project. I continued, "It ranks right up there. You gotta hear me out, though," I said, turning to look at him. I saw the next joke he had been planning fall flat on his face as he gazed at the serious look I musta been projectin', and I knew I had his full attention. "This is me talkin', Sam. Me, with the five ex-wives and the tons of girlfriends and the libido that won't quit. Me, who's so scared of lettin' someone in that I'd rather drink my way out of it. Me, who would rather go back to 'Nam than get mushy."

I paused, taking a drag off my cigar both for the need for the actual drag and for the need to gather my thoughts. I looked away briefly, then looked back – realizing he needed to see my face for the truth that would be there for him to see.

"Sam . . ." I started, and gave a laugh as the words were still not coming to the forefront. "Monday was very special to me," I tried again, edging around the emotional mine field I found myself in. "Not only because you came home," I continued, "but because of . . . because of what we . . . what we did, what we shared." Another drag of the cigar, and I finally bit the bullet. "Sam, I love you. And that love scares me more than anything else in my entire life. More even than the thought of you going back into the accelerator. I . . . I don't know what to do about it. And I don't know where to go from here. It's not an easy thing for me to say, least of all to a man. And I'm not sure if I can give you what that love asks of me."

"Al," he started.

But I cut him off. "Sam, let me finish." I took another drag, and continued, "I know you're not asking me for anything. It ain't in you to be selfish, I know that. But you deserve to be selfish, and you deserve someone who can stand by you through anything. Who would be willing to give you their love without question. You deserve better than me, kid."

"I love you, Al."

With that, I finally looked at him. His face was open, honest, and radiating the love he had for me. And with those four words, my decision was suddenly made. It was as easy as that.

"I love you, too, Sam." And it really was that simple. He leaned down, and gave my lips a quick brush with his own.

"I'm glad," he said, after the brief kiss was over. "Because me and my hand were getting way too acquainted."

"SAM!" I couldn't believe my ears.

"What can I say?" he asked, a smirk on his face. "You do odd things to me, and I keep wanting you to do them to me, again and again."

And we were worried about corrupting the time stream? I should've been more worried about the corrupting I was doin' to the Prudent Prince.

"What am I gonna do with you?"

"Hopefully, a whole lot of things," he said again. "Like a whole LOT of this," he said, and proceeded to try and take the oxygen out of my mouth with a kiss.

As I crushed him to me, wanting to not let another moment go by without this man in my life, I heard a delicate cough behind us. I broke away and turned, and laughed as I saw Bena, a smile on her face rivaling the one plastered all over Sam's.

"Glad you two could work things out," she said, barely controlling her giggles.

"Yeah," Sam said, giving her a smile as well. "Guess you were right, Bena. He just needed a good smack on the noggin."

"Wait a minute," I said, his words filtering through my system. "Are you sayin' . . . ."

"You think I've been talking to Bena so much about the leaps?" he asked, an incredulous look on his face.

"Guess not," I said, and realized I had been set up. Not that part of me didn't mind – hell, it got me to admit my feelings and the issues surrounding them, didn't it? "Shoulda known you two would double-team me."

"Sorry, Al," Bena said, still grinning. "But I'm not into threesomes."

And the three of us burst into laughter.

*****

Bena had finally dragged us back to the party (it was, after all, SAM'S welcome home party, and I was the one who had set it up), and we spent the rest of the evening in a happy daze over what had been revealed in the gloom of the stairs.

And after shooing everyone out around 3 a.m., we finally headed back to Sam's bedroom – and I showed him once and for all that I meant what I had said, and let him take me. I don't know why I was so scared of it. I should've known he would never do anything to hurt me.

We woke up around 8 (him still a farmboy, me still on the rigorous sleep schedule I had maintained while he was leaping) and after a morning 'roll in the hay', he went for a swim as a sort-of celebration.

After making sure he was busy, I made a few calls and set up the meeting that would change the rest of my life. Then I took a shower and started to get dressed.

Every button felt like it had the weight of the world as I realized what I was about to do. And as I glanced at my reflection, double checking that my Navy whites were as crisp as I thought, I couldn't help the aberrant thought that ran through my head: 'You did say you would do ANYTHING to get him home.' But this wasn't just for Sam. This was for me, too.

I sat there, watching him drowse after his mid-morning swim, and recalled how much he had done for me, how much more he tried to do for me, and I couldn't help but love him. I let my gaze sweep over the sleeping form of my friend and lover, knowing he had no idea what I was getting ready to do.

I leaned down, dreading this conversation more than the one we had last night, but knowing he would never forgive me if I did this meeting without letting him know. And with a simple brush of my lips on the back of his neck, he was groggily coming to.

"Huh? What's up?" he grumbled, then rolled over. I felt my heart break as I watched his eyes go wide as he saw how I was dressed. "Al?" he asked, his entire litany of questions wrapped up in that silent plea.

I didn't know what to say, how to tell him. "I love you," I started, always a good way to start a hard conversation.

"What's going on?" he asked, already suspicious (guess that mind-reading trick I do on him works both ways, huh?). "Why are you in uniform?"

I sat back on the chair next to the one he was lounging in, keeping on the edge so as to not muss up the clothes – like it mattered. "Well," I said, deciding that to tiptoe around the issue was not gonna make it any easier, and looked at my watch, saying, "in about five hours, I'll be taking it off for the last time, Sam."

"Huh?" the genius asked, clearly trying to figure out what was going on.

"I made a few calls while you were swimmin'. I'm announcing my retirement today."

"What?" He was clearly shocked.

"I love you, Sam. And I don't want to be ashamed of that love. And we both know the Navy won't be too happy when they realize we're lovers. I figured it'd be better to drop them before they drop me. Besides," I said, giving my usual smile, "I'm gettin' too old for this shit. 'Bout time I retire, doncha think?"

He sat up, a look of disbelief and wonder on his face. "Are you . . . are you saying you chose ME over the Navy?"

I gave a laugh – he made it sound so . . . romantic. "Well, Sammy, I told you last night you deserved someone who could stand by you through anything. If anything about the past five years tells me anything, it's that I will love you no matter what – and I would rather have you over the Navy every day."

He gave me a bone-wrenching hug (so much for keepin' my uniform nice), and I heard him strangle out, "And you say you have trouble with the mushy stuff."

I hugged him back, realizing how much this meant to him, and said, "Well, I guess you've been just as much an influence on me that I was on you. So," I started, wanting him to not feel guilty or distressed about this latest development, "you're not upset?"

He released me from the hug, and gave me a smirk. "Only thing I'm upset is that you look damn fine in those Navy whites, Al."

_**POSTSCRIPT:** _

And that was that. The meeting went over fine. While I didn't exactly blurt out that Sam and I were . . . uh . . . more than friends, I think the other officers there realized they shouldn't be using me as a poster boy for the Navy any time soon.

Sam and I turned 'my room' into an office, changed his bed into a king size, and spent most of our free time trying to change 'his' house back into 'ours'.

As for the project . . . . Well, once Sam got finished correlating the data, he announced his findings – and won us a Nobel. Yeah, that's right – us. He continued to insist that I did as much work on PQL that he did, and that I deserved as much of the credit. Now, we're workin' on getting the project to work the way it was originally intended – strictly for observation. And I kept my promise – Paul Mitchell got moved to specifically guard the Accelerator Chamber, with strict instructions that if Sam even THINKS about goin' near it without me to shoot him (in a non-lethal place, of course).

Now, don't get me wrong – this ain't a 'and they all lived happily ever after' kinda ending. Life just don't work that way. Sam and I have our share of arguments; I mean, hell, you can't get two personalities like us livin' together without tension. Of course, in our case, it helps that we can divert most of that into sexual tension, but still . . . . And it ain't like there isn't problems at the project; Ziggy's still her usual petulant self, Gooshie still gets on my nerves, and Beeks is constantly after me to 'talk things over'. And me, I still look at the occasional lovely lady, but that's all I do. Sam's fine with that – he does his own share of looking, although just as often it's at guys. As we agreed to say, 'Just because you're on a diet doesn't mean you can't look at the menu'. And just because I retired doesn't mean we aren't havin' our share of problems with bein' a same-sex relationship. Sam's been real hedgy when it comes to his family about what exactly is goin' on between us, but I think that's more because he hasn't seen them in five years.

But Sam's home. And I'm willin' to admit my love for him. And that, for me, is as happy as life's gonna give us.

You have to learn to celebrate when life's willin' to give you a party, for sure as hell it'll be willin' to give you a funeral. I've learned a hard lesson in my time on this earth. Life will always be a series of rainstorms. But Sam's taught me somethin' as well. Rainstorms sometimes bring you rainbows. All you have to do is look for them.

Fini


End file.
